"What's that?"
"Go see for yourself. You'll love it." Before Throne could react, Sellen yanked him forward.
They barely stepped out of the shop when a group of finely dressed merchants nearly collided with them. The men bowed with practiced grace. "Young man, you've achieved so much, so quickly."
"Love stories begin hard but end easy. Treasure yours." Their smiles held envy, admiration—something Throne couldn't decipher. He opened his mouth to ask, but they were already gone, murmuring about fleeting youth and time's cruelty.
"Friends of yours?" Throne eyed Sellen.
"Never seen them before. Want me to haul them back for interrogation?"
"Don't bother. They meant no harm." He shrugged it off.
More odd encounters followed. Strangers pressed name cards into his hands, eager to "exchange pointers." A painter thrust runes at him, babbling about inspiration. Was Summonwater Village cursed? Some kind of hallucinatory spell? Throne stood there, wind tugging at his clothes, fist full of runes, until Sellen's shout snapped him back.
"Stop daydreaming. The boat's here."
Boats were the lifeblood of Summonwater Village. The lake teemed with slender vessels carved from rare woods, their prows curved like crescent moons. Delicate oil lamps swayed beneath the bows. In thick fog, the lights flickered like drowning stars. The hulls—pale white, light blue—bore intricate hand-painted designs, each a tiny masterpiece.
The boatmen stood aft, poling with effortless precision, spinning tales like seasoned bards. As they glided across the water, Throne craned his neck at the passing buildings: guildhalls, chapels, statues so finely carved they seemed alive. If not for the scale, it could've been Venice.
"Better than Stormveil, isn't it?" Sellen's tone was flat. She'd seen it all before.
Throne's wide eyes made her raise an eyebrow. "Why the shock?"
"Just amazed you've grown so cultured. Old you would've called this a waste of time."
Sellen had been a recluse, indifferent to anything beyond books and lab equipment. Heaven or hell—same difference, as long as she had her research.
Her deep blue eyes flicked to him. "Traveling with you changed things."
"Even though you called adjusting your mood 'inefficient'?"
"Hmph. Mood affects focus."
Throne bit back a laugh and turned to the water. The fog hung low, softening edges, lulling the mind. Not that he'd come for the view. A glance confirmed Sellen was nodding off—her vampiric sleep schedule kicking in. He edged toward the stern.
The boatman was a gaunt middle-aged man with unkempt hair and the air of a failed poet.
His light blue robe had subtle patches, maintaining a sense of dignity despite the wear. Throne, ever the charmer, leaned in. "Your wife's handiwork?" Family talk first—always the quickest way in. Then, smoothly: "Speaking of, what's the one rule here after dark?"
The boatman's voice dropped. "Guest, don't wander at night. Especially if you hear... the calling."
The boatman's gnarled fingers tightened around his oar. "Don't ask questions. Lock your door and stay silent tonight." His sunken eyes darkened.
"Why?"
The question made the boatman's shoulders slump. He'd heard it too many times before. "Summonwater's legend is older than these docks. When the fog rolls in and the calling begins, the living walk toward death—and the dead return."
His voice dropped to a whisper as he recited:
*"Bones shall whisper,
Flesh shall heed,
What was buried
Rises to feed."*
Then he shrugged. "Why? Nobody knows. Everyone who went looking for answers disappeared." Most would dismiss it as superstition—but here, where ghosts brushed shoulders with merchants and monsters lurked in alleyways, legends had teeth.
"Didn't Count Brant handle this?"
"Tried." The boatman spat overboard. "Even Leyndell's golden priests came. Stayed three days, poked around, left." His patience frayed. Normally he wouldn't humor strangers, but this young man's fine cloak suggested nobility. "If they couldn't find the source, and the Count won't pay to relocate us, what does that make us? Bait?"
Throne stroked his chin. The village thrived despite the danger—because eradicating the threat would cost the Count profits. Leyndell's professionals wouldn't work for free either. Profit strips morality bare. When runes talk, the Golden Order stays silent.
The irony tasted bitter.
The Erdtree's order had been rotting long before the Shattering. Noble or slave, merchant or Those Who Live in Death—everything had its price now.
The boat scraped against dock pilings. Throne tossed the boatman extra runes, nudged Sellen awake, and climbed the creaking stairs.
Summonwater's central plaza spread before them, dominated by a three-story villa with sagging balconies. A rusted bell hung by the door.
Ding-a-ling—
The chime startled a dozing old woman awake. She shuffled forward, eyes lighting up at Sellen. "Miss! You've returned! And this—?"
"Her fiancé." Throne's bow was flawless.
Sellen wouldn't care if he claimed to be her grandfather. The lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly.
"What a handsome pair!" The proprietress' smile didn't reach her eyes. "Dinner's at seven. Don't wander after dark—accidents happen." She gestured upstairs. "Ring if you need anything."
Throne noted the village's mercantile efficiency even in hospitality. He bowed again, steering Sellen toward the stairs.
"You didn't use an alias," he murmured.
"Too much effort."
"Refreshing honesty." Throne grinned. "Why's she so eager to please?"
Sellen yawned. "I rented the entire third floor. No neighbors to overhear us."
Throne froze mid-step. The runes from Stormveil were nearly gone after supplies and bribes. "Teacher, we can't afford extravagance. We'll starve before Caelid."
"Then loot better next time."
Sellen couldn't be bothered, walking straight to the third floor, leaving Throne to stare at her retreating back. This woman would bankrupt a dynasty.
The third floor hallway smelled of mildew and old lavender. Five doors lined the threadbare carpet. Exhaustion weighed on Throne's limbs—killing took energy. He headed for the bath first.
However, just as he put his hand on the doorknob... "Disciple, why aren't you staying with me?" "I'm not a child who just learned to walk; why would I stay with you?" Throne was dumbfounded, thinking that Sellen's lavish spending had its benefits—he finally wouldn't have to toss and turn sleeplessly. "Oh, that's true. But remember to be quick; I don't want to wait too long."
Sellen left a sentence and slammed the door shut with a bang. Why do I have a bad feeling? Throne rubbed his chin, unable to figure it out for a long time, so he simply shook his head and walked into his room. As expected of a famous inn in Summonwater Village, the interior was quite luxurious.
Of course, the technological level of The Lands Between was equivalent to the Middle Ages, with only a few magical elements added, so it wasn't that convenient. He first went downstairs to get a few pots of hot water and poured them into a wooden tub, then took off his clothes and shrank into the tub. Taking a bath after killing people is truly comfortable.
The warm water expanded his pores, letting mud and blood stains fall off his skin, clearing away the fatigue. His sleepy head became clear. They had just reached the gates of Caelid, and once Alexander returned, they could completely leave Limgrave. Throne scrubbed the black grime while thinking about what had happened over the past dozen days.
He didn't have time to explore the vast Limgrave; he had pretty much cut straight through it, slaughtered a dragon, and killed a group of nobles. Looking back now, there were still some regrets. If he had the chance, Throne really wanted to scour Limgrave. If Malenia hadn't been watching from the side, he would have wanted to kill Godrick with Sellen.
We'll talk about it later; he'll come back anyway. He cast those few regrets to the back of his mind, got up from the wooden tub, put on his armor, and poured a glass of wine to quietly look out the window. At this moment, the lights in Summonwater Village were flickering, and there weren't many pedestrians on the road. Throne was in a hurry; he planned to meet that calling boat tonight.
He should have gone to Sellen's side to check the gift, but he always felt a bit uneasy. 'Teacher will forget immediately. Hmm, why not take this opportunity to study the doll?'
Perhaps it was seeing the full moon in the sky, he suddenly remembered he still had that thing on him, so he simply took it out and examined it in his hand.
The doll was lifelike, with every strand of hair extremely fine; it definitely couldn't have been made by a mortal. He couldn't see anything unusual. Throne frowned. He didn't know if this thing had the same function as the one the Tarnished obtained. If it was just a one-time item, wouldn't he have been self-indulgent for this period? Just looking at the silent doll, he didn't know how to test it.
Talking to a doll is stupid, and with Ranni's composure, you couldn't force her to speak just by staring. Besides, Ranni was willing to pay attention to the Tarnished because the latter had made great contributions. Throne was quite self-aware. Although he had merit, it was in no way comparable to the Tarnished who had survived nine deaths to retrieve the 'Fingerslayer Blade' from the Eternal City.
If all else fails, use the repeater tactic. He was just about to open his mouth when a bang was heard, and the door was pushed open. "Disciple, you are too slow..." Sellen's words were stuck halfway. She saw Throne by the window staring at a doll. When she saw the doll's appearance, her eyebrows immediately arched. "You, are you that desperate?"
Moonlight shone in from outside the window. The witch stood at the door, while the swordsman held the doll and blinked, unable to return to his senses for a moment. What did she mean by desperate? Seeing the object and thinking of the person was more accurate. Fortunately, Throne reacted extremely quickly and immediately replied: "No, I was just..." His words stuck.
If he claimed to be researching it, Sellen would jump at the chance to assist. But if the doll truly housed consciousness, wouldn't both master and disciple end up as ice sculptures? His face softened with nostalgia, his voice drifting like mist. "It's been so long since I left Liurnia. Seeing Her Highness brings back memories of home."
"You're not from Caria. What does this have to do with the Princess of the Moon?" "Princess Ranni has been a great benefactor. Seeing her lifts my spirits." Throne's delivery was flawless, his expression seamless, but Sellen's frown deepened.
She had no patience for her disciple's sentimental musings. That doll, that reminder of the Princess of the Moon, only fueled her irritation. "They value you for your utility. Don't mistake the Carian Royal Family for saints. Rennala's methods during the conquest of the full moon were ruthless." She paused, catching Throne's odd glance.
"As your teacher, I'm obligated to warn you." Fine, fine, everyone has obligations. I'm just the one stuck in the middle, suffocating.
Throne sighed inwardly. Thank the stars these two hadn't crossed paths directly. A teacher and a princess, both with claims on his loyalty—what a headache. "I know Princess Ranni is extraordinary. Our paths align, and we share a common enemy."
"And isn't my path aligned with yours?"
"Of course it is."
"Then that settles it. Given the Princess of the Moon's role in the Night of the Black Knives, she'll bring endless trouble." Sellen's fingers brushed her chin, her gaze sharp as frost. "Why not come with me? We could delve into magic, forge a new path. Isn't that better than chasing death in Caelid?" Bold move, poaching me right in front of her.
Throne glanced at the doll. Was it his imagination, or had those jewel-blue eyes gained a faint glow? His scalp prickled. The probing had yielded results, but the situation was teetering on the edge. If Ranni spoke now, everything would unravel.
"Her Highness doesn't intend for me to kill Radahn by force. She wants to prevent a catastrophe." He forced the words out, bracing himself. Sellen's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering. "Is the Princess of the Moon truly that important to you?" "She's both a monarch and a companion. And you, Teacher, are equally important to me." Throne slid into evasion, smooth as silk.
"That's more like it." Sellen's smile was knowing, though she couldn't pinpoint why she felt satisfied. Her tone turned casual, almost careless. "If you had to choose, which side would you stand on?" A life-or-death question, delivered with lethal simplicity.
Sellen's blue eyes locked on him, reflecting the cold moonlight. The doll in his hand felt alive, as if a certain princess were leaning in, listening intently. Damn it, how should I answer this? Throne opened his mouth, feeling like he was drafting his own eulogy. Both sides mattered deeply, yet these two seemed to hold grudges that could ignite at any moment. "Can I remain silent?"